


Reckless Spontaneity

by hopeisthethingwithfeathers



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: College, Forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeisthethingwithfeathers/pseuds/hopeisthethingwithfeathers
Summary: If there was one thing she learned from Hippie Child of the Universe and stand-in mother Topanga Matthews, it was that the World talked, and she needed to listen.“This is a sign.  It means something, it has to.”  The thoughts cross Maya’s lips in real time as they form inside her head.  “I just have to do this for myself.  I have to go.”The line falls silent from both ends.“Okay.”





	Reckless Spontaneity

**Author's Note:**

> This story falls during Maya’s sophomore year of college. It briefly mentions underage drinking, but nothing too explicit. This is my first fic and I would love to expand on this universe, so please leave feedback!

Alone in her apartment late one night in October, Maya picks up her phone and dials. One ring. She knows that if she doesn’t do it now, her pride will surely get the best of her. Two rings. Three rings. Voicemail. She sighs. Of course.

“Hi. It’s me. Listen, I’m not calling to fix things or talk anything out and I definitely do not want your advice. I just need to say it out loud to someone and I didn’t know who else to call. I’ve been thinking…”

She pauses.

“I’m ready to reach out to my dad. To forgive him for real this time. It’s been six years since your stupid brother’s forgiveness project and I can’t keep carrying it around with me. I’m gonna ask to see him and talk to him and meet his new family and I just… I just needed to tell someone. And I-“

She can feel the warm tears collecting at the bottoms of her eyes. She will not let them spill.

“I miss you.”

She hangs up and immediately throws the phone onto her bed. What kind of harebrained decision was it to call Josh? This was certainly not any of his business; as if he could understand her deeply rooted emotional damage with his perfect life and cookie-cutter family. No, she will just call him back and explain that she left the message in a moment of weakness and to kindly disregard what she said. That she has nothing to say to him.

As she reaches for the phone, it begins to ring. ‘Incoming call from Boing Matthews.’ She closes her eyes and answers.

“Hi Josh.”

“Maya?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss you too.”

\--

Within twenty-four hours, Maya’s letter to her father is written and rewritten and sealed in a small red envelope just like the one she used the last time. Cory Matthews’ Forgiveness Project in her eighth grade history class nearly killed her, but here she is giving it another go. She uses a ruler to push it to the far corner of her desk, as far from her as she can get it. As if its contents could escape and infect her with a terminal disease. The letter isn’t eloquent by any stretch. Maya is a painter, not a writer. But it does the job.

Mr. Kermit Hart  
827 West Cumberland Street  
San Francisco, California 94107

The conversation with Josh last night was strained and a little awkward. Their four-month hiatus following the fight last summer at Shawn’s old cabin threw Maya off her game. What would have once been flirty banter now came with unintentional sharp edges. Either way, it was nice to hear his voice again. They didn’t talk about anything real, but they broke the silence. Afterward, she sat down and put pen to paper. Now all that’s left is dropping the envelope in the mailbox. And waiting.

With the letter stuffed haphazardly into her backpack, Maya heads out the door to her first class of the day. As she walks confidently across campus, she counts her steps. At first, each step is filled with hope, a reason to look optimistically toward the future. She’s making amends. She’s building bridges. She can finally let go of the darkness that has taken residence inside of her since she was a child. But as she nears the mailbox, her hope shifts to doubt. He won’t want to see her. He’ll just disappear again. She tried before and it didn’t work and she’s not strong enough to try again.

Maya stands resolute on the cracked sidewalk, letter in hand, glaring at the unyielding mailbox. Why is this so hard? It’s not supposed to be hard. If this were right, everything would just fall into place. If this were right, she would drop the letter in the box and skip to class without a second thought. She would eagerly check her own mailbox each day, waiting for his reply. She would fly to San Francisco and meet his family, maybe spend Thanksgiving with them. But this isn’t easy. If there was one thing she learned from Hippie Child of the Universe and stand-in mother Topanga Matthews, it was that the World talked, and she needed to listen. This isn’t easy, so it can’t be right.

Maya isn’t weak. She’s just not ready. Not yet.

\--

Over the past few years, Christmas has become undoubtedly, albeit unexpectedly, the best time to be a Maya. Their families’ combined celebration at the Matthews’ apartment brings together all of her favorite people. It will be the first time she sees Riley since fall break and the first time she sees Josh since their fight. Most importantly, it will be the first time she’s together with her five best friends since they all departed for their respective colleges in the fall.

“Okay, Peaches. Here’s what I’m thinking,” Riley chirps enthusiastically into the phone, “You start at your house to open presents with your mom and Shawn. Then you all come over to my house for Christmas dinner. Then when the real grown ups are cleaning the kitchen, we meet everyone at the bakery for Secret Santa.”

Maya rolls her eyes, grinning to herself.

“I have the names all ready to be drawn so be thinking about what you would get everyone. And you know I’ve thought long and hard about this, and if you want me to include Uncle Josh in our sacred Secret Santa tradition, I will respect your wishes.”

“Ha, yeah right!” Maya snorts, “Josh and I just got back on good terms. You think I’m about to ruin it with Secret Santa? Absolutely not.”

“Maya, you know that your sassy-pants attitude will not be tolerated during the most magical time of the year.”

“I’m excited to see you too, Riles. But I have to go now if I’m going to make my flight.”

“You be safe and look around for anything suspicious. And text me before you take off.”

“Bye, Riley.”

“And as soon as you land!”

Maya smiles. She doesn’t regret going to school in California, but conversations like this make her realize just how far away her best friend is. The next four weeks will be a blessing.

Hanging up, she turns to the monumental task in front of her: cramming everything she owns into one deceptively small suitcase. Clothes, shoes, toiletries, art supplies, school projects meticulously wrapped and protected to bring home to her family. And heavier than anything in her massive suitcase, the letter to her dad, tucked carefully in its red envelope sits delicately on her bed. A bit worn from living in the bottom of her backpack for two months, but still intact.

Maya eyes it suspiciously. Maybe this is the right time time to muster her courage and send it; surrounded by the support of the people she loves most. Josh is still the only one she has confided in, but just being around Smackle, Farkle, Lucas, Zay, and most of all Riley makes her brave. The letter is the last thing she packs before walking out of her apartment one last time for the semester.

She doesn’t even make it to the elevator before tearing back into her room, plunging an arm into the depths of her suitcase, and pulling the letter out. It’s too much pressure. She can’t let this ruin her time at home. It will simply have to wait until she returns next month.

\--

Tonight is the night.

Christmas came and went and Maya is back in California in rare form. She has Josh wrapped around her finger again, one of her pieces is going to be featured in one of the school’s most prestigious exhibits, and she is very, very drunk. Not the kind of drunk that tucks her into bed by 9 or spills its darkest secrets to strangers in the bathroom of the bar. This is the kind of drunk that lights a fire behind Maya’s eyes. That makes her more bold and confident and fierce than she has been in a long time.

The kind of drunk that brings her to places she never thought she could reach before. Your friendly drunk mountain guide.

The events of that particular night hadn’t been exceptionally groundbreaking. Maya and her friends had started at her apartment, walked in a ferocious pack to the bar, and taken up residence in their favorite corner booth. They make toasts to the weekend, and their art, and their friends. They sing along to the classics. And true to her Irish heritage, Maya slips away inconspicuously and heads home. She doesn’t stumble down the sidewalk; she marches.

She marches into her apartment and she marches back down the sidewalk to the mailbox, dropping the red envelope without a second thought.

\--

Every day for the next week, Maya checks her mailbox obsessively for a response. She knows exactly what time the mail is delivered each day. She knows how long it takes a letter to travel from San Francisco to Los Angeles. She is on a first-name basis with her apartment’s mail carrier. Every day, she scurries downstairs to the mailbox, opens it eagerly, and stops dead in her tracks. There is always an abrupt pause before she collects its contents. Day after day, the mailbox produces nothing but junk mail, fliers for on-campus events, and advertisements, but no response from her father. She can’t figure out if it’s relief or disappointment she feels.

After another week, she begins to lose interest. She still checks every day, just not as fervently. She peeks in the mailbox when she leaves for class and maybe again when she gets home.

By the end of the third week, Maya officially files the Forgiveness Project: Part II away in the Dungeon of Sadness. She was brave and she tried, but there is nothing else she can do. Midterms are quickly approaching and she’s back to talking to sweet Uncle Boing every day. In fact, that is exactly who she is talking to when something finally reaches her mailbox.

But it’s not a response from Kermit. It’s her own scarlet envelope and her own disheveled scrawl back in her hands again. ‘RETURN TO SENDER’ is written in all caps across the front in unfamiliar, flawless lettering.

Josh’s voice fades to static as Maya stares blankly at the envelope.

“Maya, you there? Maya?”

“What?” Her world snaps back into focus. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“You okay?” Josh asks worriedly.

“Something came in the mail.”

“Something from your dad?”

“It’s the letter I wrote. It got returned.” Her confusion is apparent on her breath.

“Maybe he moved?” Josh offers, “Or you got the address wrong.”

“I didn’t get the address wrong, Josh,” Maya fires, “This is something else. This is a sign.”

“Maya…” Josh pleads.

“Don’t patronize me Josh. This means something. It’s not even opened. I have to do something. I have to act. This is the World and it’s talking to me, _finally_. And I need to listen.” The thoughts cross Maya’s lips in real time as they form inside her head.

“Listen.” Josh’s voice goes calm. “You’ve been so brave, and I’m proud of you. But don’t you think you’ve given him enough? What if you’re right and it is a sign, but it’s telling you it’s time to let it go?”

“You mean give up?” Maya spits into the phone, “No. _No_. I have to find out what this means. I have to go there and see him and figure this out.”

“I just can’t see you get hurt again,” Josh murmurs.

“Josh, thank you. Really. You have been amazing in helping me through this, honestly. I just have to do this for myself. I have to go.”

The line falls silent from both ends.

“Okay.”

\--

Maya spends the plane ride deciding what she is going to say, and lands on handing him the unopened envelope and asking him to please read it. After the way they left things last time, fewer words are probably better. Plus, Riley’s affinity for drama has rubbed off on her over the years.

When Josh suggested that Maya had gotten her father’s address wrong, she had scoffed at him. However, she second-guesses herself as she steps out of her Uber onto the perfectly groomed lawn of the house that supposedly belongs to Kermit. There is no way that her deadbeat dad lives in a home literally surrounded by a white picket fence.

She approaches the front door and gives three firm knocks. Her actions can fake the confidence she doesn’t quite feel.

When someone comes to the door, it isn’t the beautiful, blonde, suburban mother that catches Maya’s attention. It’s the golden retriever sitting at her feet. Kermit hates dogs. He wouldn’t allow Maya a dog as a little girl. He said he wouldn’t have a dirty animal in the house. Memories of her happy childhood. Her suspicions are confirmed; she’s in the wrong place.

“Hi, I probably have the wrong address. Do you know where I can find a Kermit Hart?” Maya stays strong, but her voice hitches on his name.

A confused expression flashes across the woman’s face. She opens her mouth to speak but hesitates.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Maya apologizes, “Like I said, must be the wrong house, I can just…”

“No,” the woman interjects kindly. “You’re in the right place. Kermit… passed away. A few years ago. I’m sorry to have to tell you. Who did you say you were?” Her words are soft, but automatic and well rehearsed.

Grief is an old friend to Maya. It held a solid hand on her shoulder when her dad left sixteen years ago, and reappeared the last time she saw him. It gave her a small nudge during her monumental fight with her best friend in high school, when she had felt more alone than ever. But this was something else entirely. Maya had always experienced every emotion so deeply; it comes as a surprise when she meets the weight of this news with an unfeeling void.

“I- I didn’t. I have to go.” She starts to walk away but turns back, a weak expression on her face. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

The woman, presumably Kermit’s widowed wife, calls after asking if she is okay but Maya continues her path across the driveway and down the street. She stops when the house is out of sight and collapses on the curb. She doesn’t cry; she couldn’t if she wanted to.

First she calls Josh and reaches his answering machine. He’s probably in class, where she should be. Not a plane ride away, chasing some idyllic alternate reality. The voicemail rolls for several seconds before she finds her voice.

“You were right. Like you always are. Coming here was a mistake, but it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Next she calls Riley. The second Maya hears her sweet, genuine voice, she’s overcome with guilt for not telling her sooner. Maya and Riley had always told each other everything, especially something this important. She starts from the beginning, wishing for nothing but the safety of the Bay Window in the Matthews’ Greenwich Village apartment. The side of the road will have to do for now.

After Riley, Maya starts to dial Zay, her automatic choice for witty banter and a quick pick-me-up. She doesn’t plan on telling him where she is. She just needs the lightness of her old friend.

But before she has the chance, an unfamiliar teenage boy approaches and sits down next to her.

“Look, kid. I don’t know what you’re doing but I’m going through a bit of a crisis here. And I would appreciate some space from literal strangers on the street.” Tact has never been her strong suit, especially at a time like this.

“I know who you are, you know.” The boy’s voice is easy, as if to avoid startling her.

Maya’s snap judgments have gotten her into trouble in the past, but the decision to engage this kid feels right.

“Impossible. I don’t even know that.” She doesn’t meet his eyes, staring blankly at the asphalt in front of her.

“I found your letter. In the red envelope. I read it. I’m sorry.”

Maya’s ears perk up, but she doesn’t let on. “Normally I’d say you have my attention, but I know you’re lying.” She pulls the unopened envelope from her bag and holds it in front of him, still not looking up from the street. “This letter bounced back to me three weeks ago, still sealed. There’s one person in the world who has read it, and she’s sitting in front of you.”

“Not that letter.”

And just like that, everything comes together. This wasn’t a random kid on the street; it was Kermit’s son. Her half-brother. And he didn’t read the letter she held in her hand. He read another letter, the one she wrote six years ago. For the first time, her eyes brim with tears.

“You his kid?”

He nods in confirmation. “I’m sorry he’s gone. I really am. And I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for. But I’m here. And if you’ll let me, I’d really like to be part of your life.”

Hope always has a funny way of finding Maya, in ways she doesn’t expect, shining through the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
